


Moments

by AlyxStar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxStar/pseuds/AlyxStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the lives of Mewyn Lavellan and her companions, one moment at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

**Author's Note:**

> As with Segments, I am open to word suggestions! Fire them my way and I'll see what I can come up with :)

**01\. Defend**

The creature sneaks up on them while they are laughing, flicking water at one another and throwing the occasional piece of clothing as well, not that any actually reach a target.  The hunter has just come down from his perch to set them back to the task at hand, when there's a rustle.  It's the only warning before his body jerks as though hit by a lightning bolt, and Mewyn feels a scream bubbling up her throat when claws appear  _through_ his chest, his voice catching oddly in his throat.

" _Run!_ "

They do, as fast as they can, but some of the children are  smaller and cannot match her speed.  She  _knows_ the creature is after them, can  _feel_ the wrongness gaining, and in a moment of courage and terror shouts for the others to keep going, warn the Clan, warn Istimaethoriel, and she swings around.  Plants herself between the creature and the children.  She stares at it, cannot bring herself to move any further, as it draws closer, almost  _slithering_ even though it floats.  She  _cannot move_ , not even to shake, and this thing is going to kill her like it did their hunter, and then it's going to harm the rest of the Clan and probably kill the children, and it's hand is reaching for her, there are  _claws_ -

She screams, throwing her arms up to shield her face and there is a sudden, bone-jarring tremble for the earth beneath her feet.  She stumbles, peeks between her arms, and gasps in a mixture of wonder in horror.

The creature is still there, blackened hand  _so close_ to her, but its attention is no longer on her, but the lashing mass of vines which have sprouted from the ground before her, catching on both its arms and  _pulling_ until it topples over, screeching so loud it hurts her ears.  Mewyn stumbles back a step, and another when an arm swipes in her direction.  More vines wrap around the creature's body,  _pinning_ it in place despite its struggles, and she would cheer, except... did  _she_ do that?  Was she like Keeper Istimaethoriel?  Did she have the Old Magic in her?

Another screech, and she flinches, regains her sense enough to realise that now would be a very good time to run before it breaks loose because surely vines cannot trap a thing that killed one of the Clan's hunters for long.  She turns and she runs, praying that The Creators grant her the swiftness of Halla if only to reach the safety of the Clan before the creature got loose.

It is the first time Mewyn encounters a demon.  She has seen only eight summers.

**02\. Change**

He hears of it from the servants.  He doesn't  _ask_ them about it, of course, but he listens, nose buried in a book and pretending to read so they'll think it's safe to talk, that he's so absorbed that he won't hear the whispers.

But he hears them in bits and pieces, the rumours.  There's an escaped slave somewhere out there, beyond Tevinter's borders.  An elven slave actually managed to  _escape from a Magister_.  The very idea is preposterous at first, but the whispers do not stop, do not settle.  It plants hope in the eyes that dare not meet his gaze, provokes several escape attempts across the Imperium, provokes _change_.  The Magisters respond in typical fashion - blood syphoning and death.  No questions, no mercy, no discipline.  Only death.

He learns the slave's name three years later, when fresh whispers buzz through the corridors.

 _Fenris_.

**03\. Necessity**

The cookies are  _horrible_.  Like stale biscuits forgotten under the bed and left for dogs to chew on.  The chocolate is the overly rich kind that makes her stomach flip and twist.  But they're the only food around, they're the only food she's going to get.  If she doesn't eat them and say  _thank you_ after, she's going hungry for another day and night with only a little water and that fat mouse to keep her company.

She  _hates_ these cookies.  But she eats them anyway.

**04\. Believe**

He reads the report once.

He reads it twice.  Even lifts up his patch as though looking at it with a blinded eye will make the words make sense.

He still can't believe what's scribbled on the parchment, spiky and obviously rushed.

Impossible.

 _The Arishok_ is dead.  Killed in single combat by a  _human female_.

But true.

 _Shit_.

**05\. Retirement**

_I'm getting too old for this crap._

First Hawke falls pregnant.

Then Blondie blows up two thirds of Hightown.

Then the sky literally tears itself a new asshole.

And now this. Back where it all started. Kirkwall.

He should have taken Bianca, gathered up all his savings, and beat a hasty retreat up a mountain where nobody would think to look for a dwarf.  He should have done it.  But oh no, he just  _had_ to stick around like the heroes in his books.

Viscount.  _Him_.  Pah.


End file.
